Rage of Heaven: Chapter Four
by Hyaena
Summary: Atiranhyi comes to misfortunebut it turns out to be the best outcome thus far. Her future, perhaps, is not as bleak... but will she still prove to be an instrument of destruction? Coarse Language, Violence


**3.**

**Blood, Steel and Thorns**

_Blood on her skin  
Dripping with sin,  
Do it up, yeah  
Living Dead Girl_

—White Zombie, _Living Dead Girl_

August 2, 2200

She lived by her wits, continually on the move to keep those that chanced to see her unaware of the rate at which she was growing. Atiranhyi was impatient for the growth process to slow; she was weary of having to break off her self-education every few months, to say nothing of having to evade truancy, police and child-protection authorities. The lovely child blossomed into a young adolescent of unearthly beauty, and on Lammas Night, she found herself upon Hero's Hill, listening in silence to tales of the Star Force's exploits.

By now, Atiranhyi knew of Starsha of Iscandar, and her marriage to one of the heroic Wildstar brothers; that gave her family, right there on Terra, did she but wish to reach out and claim them. That was indeed her eventual intent, but, like a wild animal exploring new territory, she wanted to know as much as she could before revealing herself.

"— and then, and this is the unbelievable part… Desslok actually dragged us to the surface of Gamilon. I still have mixed feelings about what happened after that; it was close to genocide. We ended up sunk beneath that sulphuric acid sea, grabbing at straws. And… when we targeted those undersea volcanoes…" The speaker, a young man with thick, black hair and dark eyes, ran a hand over his face, pausing.

"Go on, Mark! Tell them about all that stuff that blew up!" said a bright-eyed boy of about ten years. He was too excited to see the effect these recollections evoked in his brother.

"Jordy… all those explosions killed probably millions of people," he answered gently. "I feel like we ended up as bad as the Gamilons. We ruined their planet worse than they did ours. Nothing can live there now."

"Oh." Jordy looked chagrined. "I'm sorry, Mark. I didn't mean to make you get upset again."

Atiranhyi lifted one delicately-curved brow as she listened; this could be none other than Mark Venture—the best friend of her uncle by marriage, Derek Wildstar. She slipped a little closer, but kept herself from Venture's direct line of sight. She wanted to hear more.

"It's okay, Jordy. War's just hard on everybody, even when you win. Sometimes… more so when you win."

To Atiranhyi's disappointment, they moved on to other topics; Venture seemed disinclined to speak further of the Gamilons, denying his unseen listener further information about her target. She faded back into the shadows and then moved off, walking away from the hill, just another pretty young teenager enjoying the sultry air of a summer night.

The innocent-seeming saunter was deceptive. Her vivid blue eyes missed no detail, no opportunity to better her situation; people were careless in these peaceful days, and there were numerous useful items that could be stolen. This time, an unattended coat fell into her possession. She slipped away with the suitcoat, finding an isolated spot. She rifled the pockets for useful items and grinned with elation when they yielded a bonanza: a palmtop computer and quite a bit of cash. She would not only eat well tonight, she would have entertainment, and the palmtop, when eventually sold, would yield even more money. She shoved the pillaged coat into a nearby storm drain and then continued her evening stroll, heading for a tubecar out of the city. She did not intend to be anywhere nearby when the rich man noticed his loss.

Three hours later found Atiranhyi happily seated at a steakhouse, ripping into a bloodily-rare steak and poking away at the palmtop. Its satellite access provided her eager eyes and mind with information—a thing for which she hungered even more than the meat. She researched the Star Force's trip, devouring all unclassified details of their triumphal mission and the defeat of the Gamilons.

The Gamilons. The target for which her mother had created her, a slim dagger of a girl, to be thrown, and thrown away.

_To hell with that,_ she thought. _The Gamilons are a non-entity at this point, and I have things I'd rather do. But first, I have to get past this absurd growth cycle. And I need clothes _yet_ again, I'm outgrowing these already._

She then slipped the earphone of the palmtop into one of her ears and smiled as she partook of another passion: music. There was so much she intended to learn, do and exploit, and one of her first interests would be the wild beauty of what filled her senses. It was not enough to listen to music; she wanted to create it, immerse herself in it, celebrate it. She knew already that her voice was pleasing to the ear and her pitch absolute. Atiranhyi had explored the topic thoroughly at a public library, quickly teaching herself to sightread music. She also researched the methods used by singers to train, but still knew herself to be at a disadvantage: she needed a teacher, and for that she needed to wait until she stopped growing.

She finished her meal, and was so absorbed in listening to the rich electronic sound that she let her guard lapse. Thus it was that did not see the two uniformed officers until it was too late. The sattelite uplink had done more than provide her with music; it had led the police directly to her in a trace.

"Excuse me, miss; I'm afraid we need to talk to you," one of them began, but she gave him no time to finish. She simply leaped, catlike, over the back of her booth, scattering the meal of the couple sitting behind her. She made for the door amid shouts of surprise and outrage.

Unfortunately, her luck had fallen short. She ran straight into the arms of two backup officers. Snarling and spitting like a wildcat, she left one of them with a broken arm and several others with terrible bites and bruises before they finally managed to restrain her and wrestle her into the patrol car.

"We need to know your name, miss." The officer speaking to her was carefully probing the eye that was already swelling shut from one of her violent kicks.

"Fuck you, I have no name!" The words were growled in a lush contralto voice, accented with the lilt of a lost island.

"You're already in a lot of trouble, young lady; so much that we can't release you to your parents. Theft, assault on multiple police officers..." He shook his head. "We need your name and contact information for your parents."

"Officially, I don't exist. I have no parents. I have a name, but I won't give it to anyone other than someone from the Star Force." She tested the plasteel restraints that bound her wrists and ankles, glowering at the officer with loathing.

"The Star Force is not going to involve themselves with a case of juvenile delinquency. We can and will hold you in a juvenile detention facility until you cease this foolishness."

She considered the man, eyes narrowed. A thought occurred to her and she smiled bitterly. They would believe her soon enough; all she needed to do was wait.

And grow.

She sealed her lips with a toss of her head, wild black hair screening her face from their view.

"All right… you have the right to remain silent…" The Miranda code, almost as ancient as modern law enforcement, was read off to her, and then she was taken away.

* * *

October 10, 2200

"This is a most amazing story you're telling me." Deputy Captain Wildstar considered the social worker sitting in front of him, bewildered at what the woman was telling him.

"I know it is, and I know it's difficult to accept. But, this young woman has been proven to be telling the truth. In the two and a half months we have had her at our facility, she has continued to grow at an abnormal rate. Her pituitary functions and brain chemistry appear normal. This is why we finally contacted your Dr. Sane, the only living physician to have had contact with and information on Iscandarians. His findings confirm her heritage, and the records show that a Dr. Riroroko was, indeed, wanted for theft of classified materials." The woman sighed, her warm brown eyes appealing to the young officer. "She's difficult; I won't mislead you in that regard. But the fact remains that you are her only living family, even if just by marriage. You and the others on the Star Force are also the only people that have any tie to her existing heritage. Easter Island—her mother's home—was literally erased from the map during the war. Captain, you are literally the only hope she has of having anything close to a normal and productive life."

He stood, walking to the living room window. He looked without seeing at the neatly-manicured lawn of the small house he now owned. If he acceded to this woman's plea, he would have to sell it and acquire a larger dwelling. And he would have to give up his cherished solitude as well. How could he accept a violent teenager with a criminal record into his home? But, on the other hand, how could he honorably refuse to do so? This Atiranhyi sounded to have the only childhood he knew of that had been worse than his own, and he, like every other Terran, owed Queen Starsha a great debt. He could not turn his back on the Queen's flesh and blood.

"All right… I'll do it. I'll come with you to meet her tonight, and make arrangements to get her out of detention as her sole guardian." He sighed. "I'll need time to find a house adequately sized for two people, though. I'm not sleeping on the pullout bed in my own home, and I won't deny a young woman her privacy, either."

"Thank you, Captain Wildstar." The social worker shook his hand, and then took it into both of her own. "This is going to make a great difference in Atiranhyi's life."

"And my own," he quipped. "But, hey… I've had stranger adventures than this!"

When Wildstar arrived at the detention center, his first sense of Atiranhyi Paoa Riroroko was... power. She was already slightly taller than he himself, standing at six feet even. With little to do other than physical exercise, she had put on a bit of muscle to her frame, and her great mane of hip-length raven hair only made her seem more imposing. She watched him through almost unnaturally-blue eyes, her face expressionless.

"Hi there," he said. "I believe someone ordered an uncle around here?"

Atiranhyi blinked, and then could not help but soften. Wildstar's sincere smile and lighthearted manner surprised her; she had steeled herself to be resented.

"Yes. Have any room for a delinquent alien that sings?" She grinned.

"I believe I do. But we have to set these terrible things called 'rules' first, before we do anything else." He would have begun the litany—no drinking, no smoking, good grades, no staying out late—but she cut him off.

"Don't worry. I have very little interest in the bullshit these other girls get into. I'm into information; I've been studying incessantly since I came here. I also have an interest in music."

"All right," Wildstar could already tell that this was going to be entirely a different situation than he had expected. "One thing I do have to ask. Please… _please_ tone down the language. I can tell you're smarter than that, and it's crass."

"Ugh." She rolled those piercing eyes. "All right, I suppose. It's a habit, though; living on the streets and then in here will do that to you."

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that kind of existence," he said softly. "I know what it's like to have absolutely no one to turn to. That stops, now. I want you to know that you can come to me with anything—even if you think I won't like it, tell me. I'll at least hear you out, okay?" He offered a hand.

For the first time, Atiranhyi willingly accepted human contact; she clasped his hand in her own, favoring him with that radiant smile. "I won't let you down, Captain."

"That's Derek to you. Come on. We have about two reams of paperwork to fill out, and a hearing to sit through."

And the two made their way off to the administrative wing.


End file.
